


Precursor to the hunt

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Series: Gotham City Supernatural Sirens [1]
Category: DCU, Gotham City Sirens (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Harassment, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, POV First Person, Were-Creatures, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:38:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the way to meet up with their third, Selina and Ivy are reminded of how unsafe the world is even for the supernaturally inclined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precursor to the hunt

**Author's Note:**

> [From here](http://stichomancy.tumblr.com/post/73876694884/ive-got-my-priorities-down-flat-yall-im). I'm trying something new for this #FemslashFebruary. Last year I did random drabbles not set in any one verse and it was all over the place (although I got some Grace/Anissa and Renee/Helena stuff out of it that I'm really proud of). This year I wanted to write urban fantasy ladyshipping with the ladies in Gotham City. The first few drabbles will probably be as heavy on the world-building as they are on the ladyships and I'm so excited.

At first glimpse, Gotham City seems to be too busy and too human for the supernatural to exist on its streets.

It’s a crowded wreck of city, a dark place filled to the brim with towering silver skyscrapers and a certain sort of drudgery that is all too human. The crime is ordinary if occasionally over the top and the police rarely look twice at a crime unless it involves a politician or the city’s (least) favorite vigilante.

Everything else slips through the cracks, presumed not to exist.

However, the supernatural has been a part of Gotham’s storied history for centuries. It’s more integral than most of the humans going about their business realize.

It’s in alleys that chomp on unsuspecting criminals running from the long arm of the law.

The supernatural is the overgrown parks where the last living fae exiles tend to their gardens in sullen solitude.

In its winding streets that occasionally double back on themselves or disappear altogether to leave you stranded.

In Arkham Asylum and Blackgate Penitentiary alike where practioners work together to quell the pulse of dark magicks trying their best to rend the city to shreds and dirty it beyond mere mundane crime alone. And if you ask me, the supernatural presence in Gotham is at its strongest in the creaking old home that my partners and I share in what was once Crime Alley.

My name is Selina Kyle and it’s my job to clean up Gotham when the cops and caped crusaders that pretend to have a monopoly on crime-fighting in our gloomy city fail miserably.

*

Few things about Gotham are truly beautiful when you get right up close to them.

The towering buildings — a holdover from the Wayne family’s domination in the nineteen twenties — are handsome enough from a distance with their jutting spires and clean lines, but up close, the truth of cracking facades and peeling paint tell a different story. One of neglect and of the family’s tragic path.

Even something as innocent as rain in Gotham is ruined by experiencing it firsthand.

What looks peaceful from behind a thick pane of glass stings like a thousand small knives when droplets of liquid fall on where a sliver of brown skin is exposed by one of my gloves has slipped down thanks to my attempts to keep covered up while holding my umbrella upright above myself and another member of my makeshift family. Pamela “Ivy” Isley may be one of the most powerful supernatural beings in the city, but even she has to brave the rain sometimes when we have a case together.

Ivy doesn’t like the rain either, but I don’t blame her. What merely stings my skin actively destroys her elegant green hands, turning the soft skin and deep green leaf pattern a worrisome shade of brown. I shift the umbrella as much as I can, tilting it to cover the frowning fae noble more than myself.

Ivy cuts her eyes at me, pale green eyes narrowing as her full mouth twists with a frown. She looks at me with a weighty, judgmental look that would leave a human flayed to the bone, but only leaves me smiling.

"I  _am_  capable of taking care of myself, Selina,” Ivy bites out through clenched teeth as the arm she has looped through one of mine tightens in degrees with her frustration. “You don’t need to coddle me. I did just fine before taking up with you two fools. A little rain won’t hurt me more than anything else in my miserable life has.”

As Ivy is old enough to be a survivor of the first wave of Seelie Court exiles to America, she has a point.

But I remain stubborn, continuing to hold the umbrella over Ivy’s red curls as the sky above us opens up and rain pours down to splatter the ground.

In concession to the hideous weather, Ivy is wearing slightly more clothes than usual, a long white and green dress with thick black galoshes underneath them to protect her normally bare feet. Her arms however, remain pale green and bare to the elements and the thought of them being burnt by the elements of Gotham that are harmful to our kind frightens me more than the thought of her wrath at my overprotectiveness.

"We’re almost there, Ivy," I say in a quiet murmur. "When we reach the park, you can replenish your energy before Harley brings the car around."

I lower my voice as we pass by a couple of GCPD officers that seem far too interested in the sight of two women pressed together underneath an umbrella built for one and bare too-sharp teeth in a grimace that is too mean to be taken as a smile.

Human to the core, the men don’t see Ivy and myself as predators and protectors in our own right, only as prey that  _they_  might be tempted to hunt.

They don’t even notice my fangs.

Even with the rain scent stinging the insides of my nostrils and dulling my senses, I can smell their desire, their hunger, and it makes me see red. The beast inside of me awakens at the look of blatant appreciation that settles on the officers’ faces, yowling and striking out with claws that I won’t allow to burst into reality. The pain is an imagined one, but I wince all the same, clutching Ivy close and narrowing my eyes at the officers as they openly appraise Ivy’s body as though she is nothing more than meat to feed their hunger.

If we were anywhere else — if they were any other men — I would make an example of them.

But this is Gotham City proper and I know better than to do anything aside from stiffening my shoulders as I angle the umbrella so that their searching gaze is obscured somewhat. My arm stings from where the rain drops on my skin, but the physical pain will fade faster than the hurt caused by my wounded pride and my inability to do more.

"I know you can protect yourself," I say once we’re finally past the officers. "You’re older than me after all, but Ivy — If I can make your life a little easier. why shouldn’t I? We’re partners."

Ivy’s mouth untwists, returning to a beautiful and neutral expression. “You don’t do this to Harley.”

I try to fight the laughter that wants to bubble up my chest and out of my mouth. I’m not entirely successful, but I smile at the thought of our third.

"Of course i do," I say. "She may be a demon and she might be able to heal any damage to her body, but she’ll break as easily as any one of us in the first place. I’m  _worse_  with Harley, all things considered.”

And I am. Our third is flighty and fun, always looking for the next big thrill or the worst sinner in the room.

Despite being actual hellspawn, Harley looks and acts like a teenager most of the time. The beast inside of me finds itself constantly torn between sitting on her to keep her safe and joining her on her mischief. More times than not, the protective instincts win out.

The park looms in the distance, huge and green and dark. Ivy sucks in a shuddering inhale of breath and her spine straightens as we walk towards the center of her power in the city.

"How long do you think this case will take us?" Ivy asks, turning her face towards me. "Missing children cases are never easy — especially when one of my kind is involved."

I shrug, wincing as my rain-burned skin pulls at the motion. By the time we get on the road, the burns will have healed, but for now they remain a discomfort.

"The oracle gave us two weeks," I say, thinking about the mysterious figure that has been working to coordinate Gotham’s mundane and supernatural white knights with those in other parts of the country for several years. "I think we can do it in one  _and_  return most of the children to their rightful homes.”

Some of the tension eases out of Ivy’s freckled green shoulders and she presses close to me for a brief moment.

"Are you planning to punish him," Ivy asks once we cross into the park that Ivy has claimed as her territory in the city, speaking of the fellow fae exile responsible for this mess.

I shake my head.

"He’s stealing children, Ivy," I say softly, thinking back to my own stolen childhood that never fails to leap to the front of my memory. "Even if all he has done is throw tea parties for them, he has done something wrong. He has to be punished."

"Good," Ivy says in a voice full of bitterness as she moves away from me so that she can stand in the middle of a patch of pale pink flowers that twist their faces up to follow her as though she is their sun. One of the flowers darkens abruptly, going from a light blue to a deep color that reminds me of the depths of the ocean as it responds to Ivy’s anger. "Punishment is the least that he deserves."

Crouching down, Ivy brushes the tips of her fingers over the flowers around her, bestowing them with a bit of her essence. “I do have a request, Selina —”

I reach up, brushing my gloved fingers over the nape of my neck where the curls have escaped my knit hat, and frown down at Ivy. “A request?”

Ivy nods without looking up. “Let Harley handle the punishment once we find him. Please.”

"She’ll kill him," I point out.

Ivy’s bare shoulders rise and fall in a little shrug. “Most likely. I don’t care.”


End file.
